Phyllis, alighting more leisurely, turned, with the graciousness
that was peculiarly hers, and smiled from the doorway at Joy.
"Welcome, my dear," she said. "And I hope you'll never go away from
our village for good again!"
Joy's throat caught a little. She was only a pretender, a little
visitor in this Abode of the Blest. But, anyway, the Abode of the
Blest was here for a while, and she in it. She looked from Phyllis'
kind, lovely face in the doorway to John, beside her on the step.
His face was as kind as Phyllis' and as handsome in its grave way.
For a month she was going to be happy with them, and she could save
up enough happiness, maybe, for remembering through years of life in
the twilight city house. She was here, and loved and free and young.
Lots of people never got any happiness at all. Joy knew that from
the way she heard them talk. They seemed to mean it usually. A whole
month, then, was lots to the good. She would take every bit there
was of it--yes, love and all!
She put her two hands in Phyllis' impulsively, and kissed her as
they went in. The others followed.
Philip, gamboling rejoicingly about the house with his dear dogs,
bounded toward her as she made her way toward the stairs.
"I got something to ask you when you get your face washed and come
down," he called to her. "'Member to 'mind me."
"All right!" she called back heedlessly, as she followed Mrs. Hewitt
up the wide, shallow-stepped staircase.
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